Shots
by TA Salmalin
Summary: Post-Season 8 finale, human Cas finds his way back to the bunker. Dean does not want to talk about or feel anything, so he takes Cas out for a drink. And then they finally start to move forward.


Written for the #spn prompts on tumblr

Warnings: alcohol

* * *

There's no more Heaven and the Gates of Hell are still wide open and everything has gone completely and irretrievably to shit, but it's been a whole week and Dean's still alive and that's…well, that's something.

Sam stayed awake for two consecutive hours this morning and he knew his name and who was president and three different exorcisms in three different dead languages so it looks like all that trial stuff was temporary, maybe, hopefully.

Kevin stopped leaving the room the minute Dean or Sam entered it, and even if he hadn't deigned to speak to either of them yet, it was still progress, of a sort.

Dean wasn't injured. He'd done nothing during the whole fiasco with the trials besides chase after Cas like a child, always arriving too late to be of any goddamn use whatsoever. Sam was alive, and Kevin was alive, and they were both getting better, and Dean was just fine.

So, of course, that was when someone knocked on the door.

Dean hoped that it was Charlie. She was the only one who should know where the top secret bunker was. Knowing his luck, it was probably Abaddon. Or Metatron. Or both.

It wasn't.

It was Cas.

Dean froze. He'd thought Cas dead (again), and was relieved to see that he wasn't, but at the same time he was furious, that Cas always just assumed the Winchesters would take him in, time and again, after he kept fucking up, kept abandoning them for no reason, kept—

Dean shook his head before his thoughts, halting that train of thought before he could spiral even more out of control.

The tiny, hopeful smile on Cas's face faded to nothing. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have troubled you."

Cas turned to go, and wasn't that exactly like him, that asshole. Dean was fully prepared to just let him go, he was so, so done with this disappearing act, but somehow his hand ended up on Cas's sleeve.

Cas paused, but he didn't look back, didn't say a word, not even more of that empty, incessant apologizing. For some reason, that pissed Dean off more than anything else could have. He should push Cas out the door. He was _going_ to push him out the door.

Instead, he frowned at the fabric under his fingers, worn blue cotton instead of the familiar trenchcoat. "What happened to your clothes?"

"They were damaged when I Fell," Cas said. "I stole these."

Dean didn't know what to say to that. Congratulations on the petty crime? Welcome to humanity, it sucks here? Way to destroy your entire family?

Cas looked truly pathetic, now that Dean was actually looking. The shirt was serviceable, if dirty, but his jeans were enormous, the waistband bunched to the side and secured with a rubber band. They were so long that Dean didn't immediately notice that Cas was barefoot. Whatever he'd been doing with the last week, it wasn't shaving, or attending to any other matters of personal hygiene, if his greasy, tangled hair was any indication. In fact, Dean was suddenly and uncomfortably reminded of a different Cas, in a future he'd once sworn would never happen.

For that Cas, and that Dean, he could do this. He tightened his grip and tugged Cas into the bunker.

* * *

A few hours later, Dean felt like he was suffocating. He woke Sam, made sure he ate something, took a shower, checked in on Kevin, inventoried their food supplies, and just caught himself before he started mopping the floor. In all that time, Cas hadn't moved from his seat at the table, the same spot they'd watched the instructional video for the third trial a week and an eternity ago.

That was just fine. Dean wasn't Cas's mother, at this point he probably wasn't even his friend, if the guy wanted something he could get it himself.

Except god-fucking-dammit Dean fell for this every time, and he knew it was happening and fought against it with all his considerable willpower, but he still couldn't just sit there and watch Cas be that miserable and do nothing. The guy was like a black hole, sucking up everything Dean had to offer, never satisfied, never giving anything back, and Dean was fucking sick of it but he still retrieved an old pair of his sandals and went to Cas's side.

"Come on, I'm taking you to a bar."

Maybe he couldn't ignore him, but he didn't have to give the guy anymore of himself, either. This would just have to do.

* * *

The drive was painfully silent, and way too long since Dean still retained enough of his sanity and instincts to not frequent establishments too close to their secret hideout. Cas didn't say a word the entire time, and Dean didn't either. It was a relief to reach the bar.

Dean bought a round of shots, then gave Cas his. It wouldn't do much for their secret if he had to call a cab, Sam was in no condition to come get him, and he was pretty sure Kevin didn't actually have a driver's license yet.

Okay, now he needed that drink.

At least Cas seemed to understand the purpose of this venture. He was knocking back shots like water, his customary impassive expression fixed in place.

Or…possibly a cross-eyed, slack-jawed expression.

"You okay there?" Dean asked, before he could stop himself.

"Of course," Cas said, the first words out of his mouth since offering to leave. "I've been drunk before, Dean."

Once. When he'd still been part-angel. Dean shook off his misgivings. People got drunk all the time, after all, and Dean was hardly one to judge.

"Though it did not—was not quite this way," Cas said, perfectly articulate but addressing the space to Dean's left. "I did not understand the appeal before." He took another shot. "But now I see. You humans—we humans—feel everything, always. But now I don't feel anything at all." He broke into a wide grin that terrified Dean all the way down to his soul.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

"No, this is perfect," Cas insisted, patting Dean's hand clumsily. "I thought I understood what humanity was like, because I almost Fell that time we were trying to stop Lucifer. Remember?"

"Yeah, I remember."

Cas giggled—honest to God, burst into giggles. "This isn't the same at all!" He abruptly went completely serious, staring straight into Dean's eyes just like the old days. "See, when I was an angel, I felt nothing. Ever. I didn't even think anything. Did I tell you that? I was an extension of God's will, a wavelength of celestial intent, and whatever that will dictated, I did. Like an arm." He was temporarily fascinated watching his own arm move back and forth. "But then I went to Hell."

The waitress, who'd come to refresh their drinks, gave Cas a weird look. So did Dean, since Cas appeared to be _smiling_ at the memory of Hell. Dean had been there; there was nothing to smile about.

"I've fought in wars for thousands of years," Cas said, thankfully after the waitress was out of earshot. "I guarded an entrance to Hell, I fought in planes of existence beyond your comprehension, I've destroyed whole cities here on Earth."

"Well aren't you special," Dean muttered, because this 'I'm an all-powerful angel' routine got lame really fast, especially given where Cas ended up.

"No, I'm not!" Cas said, smacking his hands down on the table and drawing the intention of the entire bar. "That was the _whole point_. Aren't you even _listening_?"

"Keep it down," Dean said, smiling awkwardly at the people around them.

"Just another arm," Cas said, in a low hiss this time, too quiet for people to listen, but Dean had to smell his breath, so it was kind of a trade-off. "Not even an arm, more like a toenail. And then I found you." He said this in roughly the same tone as a child learning about Santa Claus for the first time.

It made Dean deeply uncomfortable. He had no memory of this meeting, which he thought was kind of unfair, since he remembered the torture with such startling clarity. But he remembered enough of his own behavior that no one, let alone an angel, should have been happy to see him then.

"Do you know that I'd never actually come into contact with a human soul before that moment? Well, not that I remember, anyway. For all I know, I've saved hundreds, thousands of humans over the eons of my existence."

Dean was struck with a sudden and wholly unexpected pang of jealousy.

Cas was totally oblivious, still babbling away. "I doubt it, though. When I was pulled back to Heaven for re-education, they couldn't erase the memory of your existence, because I still had a task to complete, so they simply removed all the emotions associated with the memories. But in the green room, when you told me that we were done, I remembered how your soul shone even in the darkness of Hell, and how it felt to cradle it within my Grace, and I don't think I could have forgotten an experience like that."

Okay, now Dean was _very_ uncomfortable. "Look, Cas, not that I'm not enjoying this little confessional, but maybe we should—"

"It's interesting, wondering which of my memories are real. Naomi told me just recently that she's lost count of the number of times she's re-programmed me. Did I mention that? More than any other angel in existence. I guess I'm particularly difficult." He sniffled, like he was thinking about crying.

This was not what Dean had had in mind when he offered to get Cas drunk. It just figured he'd be the worst kind of drunk imaginable, spilling his guts when he hadn't had two words for Dean in months, all melancholy and shit.

"And it's not just what they took away," Cas said, "it's also what they stuck in. Divine revelation is just integrated into our Grace, made a part of us, and Naomi tried to order me to kill you that way."

Dean's breath caught. Was this what happened in the crypt…? He didn't want to hear anymore of Cas's excuses, but for this he thought he deserved a little explanation, seeing as he was nearly beaten to death. And just because some angel chick ordered it? It was Zechariah all over again.

"It didn't work, though. She filled my mind with memories of your betrayal, of you killing me and my brothers and sisters in a hundred different ways, and I don't know any more if any of it is real or not. But she couldn't erase that memory of holding you in Hell, and I know that's real, and whatever you've done or I've done you are still that pure and righteous soul, and I couldn't kill you. So she trapped me in Heaven, forced me to kill copies of you over and over, thousands of times, until it was as natural as breathing. But when I saw you, the real you, your soul reached out to me, and I couldn't do it."

Cas looked at him with the blank, dead eyes Dean remembered from the crypt, and he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. He wanted to stab Naomi, or Cas, or maybe himself. Why the fuck was he just hearing about this now? He wanted to say this, or _something_ at least, but Cas cheated by _bursting into tears_.

"I tried," he said, in the breaths between sobs. "I tried to stop the Apocalypse from starting, tried to stop Lucifer, tried to stop the civil war, tried to stop the Leviathan, tried to save Heaven, I really tried! And what have I accomplished? Nothing. I've killed or alienated everyone I've ever met, and I can't even take refuge in my own head because I can't even remember what's me anymore. And the fact that that upsets me, that I even have a concept of 'me', tells you how much of a failure I am as an angel. Now that I'm human, I'll just fail at that, too."

Dean was so angry he was actually seeing red. "You know, none of this would have been a problem if you actually talked to me about, I don't know, anything," he said, because apparently they were going to do this now. "So don't you fucking start with this apologizing thing again, we've been there, done that, and the tears are a nice touch, but how many times have we done this? Three times just in the last few months?"

Cas had the nerve to look wounded, wiping tears and snot on the back of his hand. "I was going to talk to you—"

"Yeah, right," Dean said bitterly.

"No, I'm pretty sure this is a real memory. You were at Lisa's house, you were raking leaves, you had a family. You were keeping your promise to Sam. And then…and then I left with Crowley, instead."

"Why would you ever do something like that?" Dean shouted, forgetting their audience. "Fuck, Cas, name one time Crowley hasn't completely screwed us over, just one!"

Cas seemed to be over his crying jag and shouted right back. "I have no idea! Anything I might have felt then, I don't remember! Naomi climbed into my skull and snatched it out!"

This was getting too heated for a public place, so Dean threw some money down on the table and unceremoniously lifted Cas out of his seat and dragged him outside.

"How can you not remember why? That doesn't even make any sense!" Dean said, the second they hit the parking lot. "You remember me raking, for fuck's sake."

"I don't know how many other ways I can explain it," Cas said. "I was an abomination, an angel with emotions and free will, and she tried to cure me."

"Cure you. Do you even hear yourself, Cas? That thing she was trying to 'cure' you of was _me_! What am I supposed to say to that? What am I supposed to think?"

Cas, who had been dragging his feet and generally being as uncooperative as possibly, grabbed the lapels of Dean's jacket and wouldn't let go, pulling their faces uncomfortably close together. Cas smelled like sweat and cheap alcohol and unwashed human, and Dean kind of wanted to throw up a little, but not as much as he wanted to punch Cas in the face for putting them in this situation, again.

"What are you supposed to think? Why do you think Naomi's control only started to fail now? You needed me once, to save Sam, to save the world, and I have always done everything I could to be exactly that. When you wanted to save Sam, I died for you. When you wanted to fight Lucifer, I Fell for you. When you wanted to _talk_ to Sam, I died for you! And when you wanted to be normal, I went to Hell for you, compromised myself for you. And when you wanted to be free of Purgatory, to have everything go back to the way it was, I let you go. Naomi tried to make me into her weapon, but I _want_ to be yours. I will be anything you want me to be, Dean!"

"Holy shit Cas, that is not what I want!"

Cas leaned even closer, until their noses were actually touching. "You said you needed me. I'm only human now, but just tell me what you want from me, and I'll do it. I swear. Anything, Dean. I promise!"

"Jesus fucking Christ, no!"

Cas closed his eyes, swaying on his feet, looking like Dean had punched him in the face, not asserted a perfectly rational point of view in the face of _total madness_.

Before he could explain this, or say anything at all, Cas turned green, and Dean had just enough time to get out of the way before Cas threw up all over himself and the ground. It just went on and on, and Dean was actually a little impressed in spite of everything.

And then Cas passed out.

"Fuck!" Dean yelled, but as usual, there was no one listening. The evening's revelations were really more than he'd ever wanted to know. This morning, he was sure that he and Cas were done. He'd given all he had to give, more than he'd ever given anyone, except for Sam, and had it thrown back in his face again and again. He would have said that there was nothing that could have repaired their relationship.

"Fuck," he said again, and he got his hands under Cas's arms and started dragging him toward the Impala. Good thing he still had a few blankets left from tending to Sam while he performed the trials.

* * *

The next morning, he greeted Cas with a cup of coffee and a handful of painkillers.

"I'm still pissed at you," he said, "and we still have a lot to talk about. Actual talking, not drunken confessions. But I'm willing to give it a shot. Okay?"

Cas clutched his head, peering up at Dean through a fringe of frankly disgusting hair. "Okay," he croaked.

"Awesome. Lesson One: get in the goddamned shower. Seriously."


End file.
